


Cloud Spit and Angel Tears

by maddaddam



Series: Jeanmarco Week 2016 [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Elementary School, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Little Kids being little kids, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8354209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddaddam/pseuds/maddaddam
Summary: Jean always liked the rain. Marco...not so much. Thank goodness his newest friend is willing to fix that. Jeanmarco Week day four: Rain! Based off this.





	

Living in a place where it always rained was kind of a bummer. At least, that’s what Marco thought. He was accustomed to the sunny days and clear nights of Jinae, not the constant drizzle and gloom of Trost. 

Jean, on the other hand, _was_ accustomed to the miserable weather of the town. In fact, he actually kind of liked it. The rain at least; he wasn’t very big on thunderstorms and lightning. But the rain...the rain he definitely liked. It was peaceful, and quiet, and mesmerizing to watch as it trickled down the panes of his bedroom window. More than that, it was constant. You never knew who was going to blow threw this backcountry little town, but you always knew it would rain, and Jean liked that kind of structure. 

Marco did not like that kind of certainty. Right after he moved from Jinae to Trost, he disclosed to his new classmates that he liked it when the weather changed. Jean, being a shocked, rain loving ten year old, couldn’t understand Marco’s sentiment whatsoever. Why on earth would Marco enjoy fickle weather patterns? How did he know how to dress if the weather was always changing? It made no sense. That’s why Jean was determined to change Marco’s mind about the rain. He would, after all, be living in Trost for the rest of his adolescent life, so might as well make sure he enjoys it, right? 

The first time Jean tried to take Marco out in the rain was a disaster. They’d been walking home from the elementary school down the road when all of sudden it had started to pour. Jean, of course, rejoiced at the change in atmosphere, pulling on his coat and running across the lawns of houses he didn’t own. He jumped in the puddles already forming on the sidewalk and stuck out his tongue to taste the rain trickling down his throat. Only once he noticed that Marco wasn’t having as much fun as he was did he stop. 

“Wha’s wrong, Marco?” he asked, yanking on the sleeve of Marco’s little orange rain jacket. To his surprise, Marco didn’t allow Jean to pull him forward. Instead, the slightly taller boy shook his head rapidly, dark hair plastered to his wet forehead, and retracted his arm from Jean’s grip. 

“I don’t like it,” Marco said before crossing his arms and ducking his head. Large round water droplets caught on his eyelashes and when he looked up, he had to blink his huge brown eyes to keep them from getting in his way. Jean also noticed that he was crying, though he easily could have passed the tears rolling down Marco’s cheeks off as rain drops. 

“Whadaya mean?” Jean said and took Marco’s hand his own, deciding to lead the other to his house since it was closer. It was clear Marco had no intention of answering, so Jean just let him cry as he trudged through the rain to his home. Once inside, Jean ushered his friend to the family living room, plopped him down on the couch, and went to fetch some hot chocolate. It wasn’t the best - just that powdered stuff you get in bags - but it was all he could make and he didn’t think Marco would be the type of person to turn him down just because the ingredients were cheap. 

He held out the mug of sugary liquid, “here.” Marco cautiously accepted the offer, cradling the mug in his hands and tucking his legs up so he could rest his chin on his knees. Jean thought he heard a quiet ‘thank you’ escape his friend’s lips, but he pretended not to hear it and turned on the TV instead. It was already queued to his favorite cartoon, and he shuffled farther along the couch in anticipation until he was practically on top of Marco. Soon, he was reciting the entire plot to the freckled boy, making wide hand gestures as he went until he could feel Marco relaxing into the couch beside him. He made his move once he felt that Marco had calmed down sufficiently. 

“So why dontcha like the rain?” He pounced, question flung out into the open and pinning Marco in place. The freckled boy tensed and gripped the hot chocolate even tighter between his hands. _Is he going to break the mug?_ Jean wondered, though he did nothing to stop the other from doing so. 

“It’s...scary,” Marco responded lamely. 

“I think it’s pretty,” Jean responded, equally as elegant. 

“N-no! Rain’s what happens when angel’s cry a-and I don’t want the angels to cry!” he continues. At the back of his head, Jean realizes that what he’s doing is upsetting Marco, but he has neither the maturity nor the patience to hold himself back from constant questioning. 

“Who told you _that_?” Jean giggles, pushing Marco lightly on the chest. Marco seems so smart, how could he be so silly? Everybody _knows_ that rain is just the clouds spitting on you because they’re grumpy! Duh. 

Marco, however, genuinely doesn’t seem to know this, which distresses Jean greatly. Especially when the other boy’s start tearing up and his bottom lip starts trembling. 

“D-daddy told me,” he sniffles, “d-daddy said it’s the angel’s crying because they miss the people they left at h-home,” an unattractive glob of snot is making it’s way down Marco’s freckled face. Jean pretends to be disgusted when the other boy wipes it off on his sleeve, but secretly he’s thinking that he would’ve done the exact same thing, so it’s not like he can judge Marco for it. 

“Well that’s stupid,” Jean says after a moment of quiet contemplation. And to him, it is. _Why would angels be sad if they got to live in Heaven? Isn’t everything made of cotton candy up there?_ Jean tells Marco so, the other boy hiccuping and sniffling all the while. 

“But…,” he trails off, still sniffling, and Jean cocks his head as he waits for the explanation that’s sure to follow. “ _But?_ ” he prompts when Marco’s eyes glaze over with reverie. 

“B-but...she has to miss us…” the boy mutters under his breath; leaving his friend utterly confused. 

“Who has to miss us?” Jean asks entirely indifferent to Marco’s constant sniffling and the tears running steady tracks down freckled cheeks. 

“Mom…” 

Suddenly, everything in the room seems to stop. At least, it does for Jean. He’s pretty sure that Marco’s world just came crashing down around him...if the way he breaks down into the uncontrollable sobbing of a child alone and scared is anything to go by. But for Jean...well, for Jean, the world has stopped spinning entirely. In fact, he’s pretty certain that any air he might have needed to breathe is being used up by Marco’s constant gasping, leaving Jean’s lungs empty and heart broken. 

“M-marco?” he starts, but it’s awkward and clunky and the words roll off his tongue more slowly than they should. Marco hiccups to indicate that he heard his friend speaking, but otherwise makes no effort to raise his head. “I-is your mom a-an angel?” 

Marco nods frantically and Jean tries not to bite all the way through his bottom lip as he takes in the new information. He doesn’t quite understand it all - how could he? He’s ten - but he gets the gist. He also knows he needs to fix things, and fast, before Marco cries himself into a coma. 

“Well then,” he begins, tugging the freckled boy to his side. Some of the hot chocolate from Marco’s mug splashes over the rim and lands on Jean’s pants, but he ignores it. It isn’t even hot anymore. “W-well then she must miss you an awful lot.” 

“H-huh?” Marco grunts, laying his head on Jean’s shoulder to get comfortable in their new position. Jean raises his chin to let him closer. 

“Yeah, I mean - I mean it’s always raining here, so she must miss you a lot, right?” he defends, Marco nods as if processing this new information before he lets out a little hum of agreement. 

“I don’t want her to be sad though,” the freckled boy protests weakly and Jean squeezes him just a _tiny_ bit closer to his chest. 

“I know,” he says quietly, voice hushed enough that all he can hear is the trickling of rain outside the living room window. He hopes Marco can’t hear it. 

“I don’t like the rain,” Marco says, as if sensing Jean’s hesitance at the sound of it pounding against panes of glass and well-paved sidewalks. 

“I know,” Jean whispers again and this time, this time he makes a promise. To his new friend, to himself, to the stupid clouds or whoever, he doesn’t know. But he makes a new promise nonetheless, repeating it over and over in his head as Marco’s sobs slowly subside into the occasional whimper. 

_I will never take Marco out in the rain_. 

. 

.. 

… 

Jean was never particularly good at keeping his promises. 

He promised his dad he’d never slide down the banister. He promised his mom he’d stop stealing cookies from the jar before dinner. He promised his teachers, his friends, his relatives, _promised promised promised_. 

He promised himself he’d never take Marco out in the rain. And, oh, how he had failed. 

Less than a month after he made that promise to himself, the universe decided to tempt Jean with an offer he simply couldn’t pass up: a brief downpour followed by an extended sunshower that showed no signs of letting up for the rest of the day. It was beautiful, it was perfect. 

It was just the kind of weather Jean needed to convince Marco that rain wasn’t all that terrible. 

Jean was snapped out of his semi-diabolical scheming by the sound of a bell and the screeching of metal charis on linoleum floors. Without stopping to really think his plan through, he followed his classmates in their rowdy flight from the classroom, grabbing the sleeve of Marco’s sweater on the way. The boy squeaked in protest, but Jean was determined to see his poorly thought out plan to completion and didn’t stop hauling his friend by his arm until they were both standing outside. Marco fidgeted in his place, wincing when the drops of barely-there rain made contact with his skin and avoiding eye contact with Jean as best he could. Personally, Jean couldn’t stand people who weren’t willing to make eye contact with him so he poked Marco until their eyes met, Jean smiling warmly once they did. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” he asked and Marco blushed, nodding his head anyway. Jean’s heart fluttered at the little sign of trust, but he pretended not to feel it as he led Marco along. He began heading in the direction of their homes, feet purposefully avoiding any large puddles or cracks in the sidewalk where water could collect while the walked. He even opened up his little yellow umbrella. For Marco, of course. Jean would have been content to walk through the drizzle shirtless if he could. 

About halfway to their homes, Jean made a sudden turn. Marco glanced around curiously at the sudden change in the direction, but Jean was pleased to note that the freckled boy made no attempts to pull himself free or run in the opposite direction. He knew that Marco would have no idea where they were headed (he’d only been in Trost for a few weeks, after all) and he was sort of counting on Marco’s inexperience to get him through this. The destination would be so much more exciting if Marco had never been there before. 

“Where are we going?” the boy whispered, his voice taking on a slightly concerned note. Jean figured it was justified, seeing as they’d long ago wandered out of the residential area of Trost and were now truding through the damp grass and wet leaves of the surrounding forest. Huge pines replaced the row homes both boys had grown accustomed to and the sidewalk had long since tapered off into a little footpath through the trees. Jean would be a little paranoid too, if he didn’t come down here so much. 

“You’ll see,” he replied, voice lowered in reverence for the forest they were passing through. If he shut his eyes and really concentrated, Jean could hear the sound of a brook babbling a few yards to his left. He turned to follow the noise. 

“What is this?” Marco asked again as Jean pulled up to the waterfront. It really wasn’t much to look at, just a little creek fed by constant rain and snowmelt, but Jean didn’t particularly care. He liked the solitude the little creek offered and he would sometimes rest on the bank to think or draw if he felt the need to get away for a while. The best place to sit (in his humble opinion) was a large, round river rock jutting out of the side of the stream surrounded by reeds and tall grass and covered in a patchwork of moss and lichen. Hesitantly, Jean led Marco over to his prefered seat, watching the other’s face for any signs of distress. Luckily he found none, though Marco did squeal a bit when his shoes slipped on the surface of the rock. 

“It’s my favorite place,” Jean beamed once the two were settled down together, umbrella keeping them out of the rain but in no way restricting their view of the stream floating by or the sunlight catching in the few droplets that did manage to make it through the pines. Marco narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at that, taking in the surroundings with a gaze Jean couldn’t identify as either happy or displeased. He hoped for the former. 

“It’s very pretty,” Marco finally breathed and Jean let loose the breath he hadn’t remembered holding, thrilled that his friend liked it. 

“Yeah,” Jean agreed, leaning back and allowing Marco to wrap his arms around his shoulders. _He’s so warm! We feel so warm!_ “Not so scary, huh?” 

“No,” Marco agreed with only the slightest bit of hesitance, “not so scary.” Jean grinned. 

The two remained by the river for hours, wrapped protectively around each other but lost in their individual thoughts. Neither boy thought to interrupt the growing silence, neither of them wanted to. They just wanted to stay as they are, curled together until the changing light forced them to move from their spot and return home. As they walked away from the creek, they share a smile, quick but meaningful, and Jean has just enough time to think he’s glad he broke his promise before they’re walking home through the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to make this sad, I'm sorry.


End file.
